


Things that We could be

by Clayla



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Betrayal, Bottom Louis, Character Death, Drugs, Endgame Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, F/F, F/M, Financial Issues, Foster Care, Harry is 27, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lawyer Harry, Liam and zayn are 26, Lilo friendship, Louis is 25, M/M, Niall is 24, Paranoia, Past Character Death, Possible Character Death, Possible Ziall, Poverty, Prostitute Louis, Prostitution, Rags to Riches, Random Updates, Right?, Top Harry, Unsafe Sex, Violence, but worth it, captain niall, cocaine influenced paranoia, depends on you, harry and louis are the same age, hopefully, larry stylinson - Freeform, lirry friendship, narry friendship, niam friendship, nouis friendship, possible sophiam, possible ziam, psychological stuff, somewhat slow burn, zouis bromance, zouis friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:37:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4749998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clayla/pseuds/Clayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"I know how to handle</em>
  <br/>
  <em>broken glass,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>But it hurts</em>
  <br/>
  <em>nonetheless."</em>
  <br/>
  <em>-L.T.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Harry had dreams. He dreamed of being an astronaut when he was five, and a bakery owner when he was seventeen. But when he turned twenty and his parents died, he knew he wanted to become a lawyer.</p><p>Of course, not everything works. Instead of sitting behind a polished desk and standing before a jury, Harry finds himself in a run down flat working at a laundromat in London. The only salvation he has is Louis, but as of recent, it seems as if that is even not enough...</p><p>Warnings: includes depictions of violence that may be disturbing, along with parent death (not depicted) and character with cocaine induced paranoia. Do not read if these may bother you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the hottest night of the summer. The heat wasn’t the pleasant kind that warmed your skin like the rays of the sun matting on the back of your neck, or the soft glow of a campfire on a chilly night. No, the heat was the kind that had no source and just seemed to suffocate you from all angles, making sleep impossible. The only relief that Harry had was from the old ceiling fan rotating rhythmically around and around, but even that had its downfall, for it creaked with each turn.

Harry turned over in the mattress gently, careful not to wake up the dozing figure beside him. Even with the only light in the room being the soft orange hue that emanated from the bathroom night light, Harry could make out the beads of sweat clinging to the person’s back that was facing him. His own skin stuck to the mattress, glistening with sweat as well. The blanket that had covered them had long been kicked onto the creaky floorboards beneath. Harry took note of every detail: the way his weight sunk into the lumpy mattress so that he could feel the hard floor beneath, the incessantly loud mating buzz from the insects outside, the thunk permeating through the thin walls of a neighbor in his flat slamming another empty beer bottle onto his counter, the odd shadow of the lamp that projected itself onto the ceiling, and the soft breaths that accompanied the rise and fall of Louis form. Lately Harry has been examining everything instead of sleeping at night, stamping it all in his head. 

Nothing has gone the way Harry imagined it. He remembers being five and dreaming of being an astronaut, floating around in space in a little white suit. He remembers turning seventeen, and landing a job at the local bakery, thinking he might one day want to take over the business. Then he remembers the day he graduated from high school and returned from a late night party, only to get a message from his sister that their parents had died in a hit and run accident. Ironically, it was in that moment that Harry decided he wanted to go into law, as well as realized that he was stranded without any money or support to go through with his plans. His sister Gemma was in her last year of university and needed money to pay of debts and tuition. She had also had a promising boyfriend and a foreseeable future. Harry wasn’t going to take that all away by using the rest of their parents money, so he ran. He still remembers the first few days of staying over at his friends’ houses, shutting off his phone whenever Gemma’s number would pop up. When the police reports started to show up, Harry piled up a few bucks and took the next bus to London. That’s when he met Louis, a student who had just dropped out of university to save money for his four younger sisters and sick mum. 

Harry remembers every detail of meeting Louis. He had gotten a job at the counter of a laundromat, and it was nearly eleven at night when a feathery headed boy trudged through the door, a large plastic bag of clothes slung over his shoulder like a bag of Santa’s presents. He immediately reminded Harry of Peter Pan with his sharp cheekbones, playful blue eyes, and most of all, the skip to his step. When the boy had unloaded his bag of what seemed to be nearly all women’s clothes, Harry couldn’t help but stare curiously. Apparently he had stared too hard, for the boy turned around, saw Harry’s line of vision, and chuckled out loud, stating that they were his sisters’ clothes. Harry had blushed deeply, his stomach fluttering with the sound of the boy’s laugh. It was after nearly a month that their banter every Tuesday night that Louis would come around to do laundry that Harry got the guts to ask Louis out. It was then that they truly got to know each other. Harry told Louis of his parent’s death and how his job got him just enough to rent a run down flat on the poorer side of London , and Louis told Harry of his sick mother and how his plans of university were cut by his job waiting at a restaurant and caring for his four younger sisters. 

Nearly a year into their relationship, Louis mother died, and his four sisters were taken away. Harry still remembers when Louis showed up at his door nearly three hours after midnight, eyes red and tear stained. It was the first and only time Harry had ever seen Louis cry. 

They decided to move in together, both pitching in their money to rent a flat in between their work places, and buy a ratty mattress that sat on the floor of their flat. Over the year, they had slowly accumulated more furnishings, including a few kitchen essentials and a splintery dresser. The splintery dresser now stood in the corner of the room, holding on the bottom drawer a sum of money they hoped would be able to buy them a safer flat as well as, Louis hoped, gain them custody of his sisters. Although things weren’t usually looking up at their flat, they had each other, and that was good enough.

Until recently, that is.

Harry’s not sure why he’s been doubting everything recently. He’s always saw what life has given him as something to accept, but nowadays, all he can do is lie awake at night, dreaming of what he could have. It leaves him feeling guilty and selfish, but he can’t help it. It’s a crave so strong, it hurts to resist it. The worst part, though, was that Louis had no idea of what Harry thought, and Harry has found that he cares less and less.

For the third week in a row, Harry can’t sleep. The clock on the floor reads 3:00 with glaring red digits, and Harry’s body screamed for him to move, run, escape. But, the thick air seemed to trap Harry’s body to the mattress, not letting him budge. His mind has become a prisoner in his body. 

The clock flickers its digits to 3:01. Even though only a minute has passed, Harry could hear his heart racing with anxiety, his mind screaming that time is passing, and he swears the world outside of the flat feels a little more alive and awake. Time is running out. It was now or never.

Harry eased up from the mattress, and his heart thumps heavily as he watched for any signs of Louis stirring. His chest clenched painfully when Louis’ breaths remain steady and undisturbed. If Louis even as so slightly shifted, Harry would immediately lie back down. But, the gates were opened, and no one was holding him back. Harry continued sitting up, his back cracking quietly. He slid off the mattress, his bare feet brushing the cold floor. He padded through the dark with familiarity to the old dresser in the corner, moving first to take out a shirt and a pair of jeans. He grabbed the dark green back pack leaning against the dresser and slid open the bottom drawer, where a familiar black sack sat. Behind him, Louis breath was still steady as Harry emptied the bag’s contents into the green back pack, watching as stacks of bills fell with unsettling thumps into the bottom of the bag. Harry then put everything back to place, slid on his shoes at the doorway, and took one last glance back. Louis breaths still whispered as if on a metronome, the crickets outside kept chirping loudly, and the ceiling fan still fought its war against the stuffy humid air. With everything imprinted into Harry’s mind, he slipped through the door into the searing hallway light.


	2. L.T

He was my religion  
I prayed, I worshiped  
bowed down on my knees  
forehead kissing the ground.  
He trilled sweet glories in my ears  
like a broken record  
and I listened and listened  
lyrics studded in my mind  
and only when I look up  
to profess my love  
did I realize he was gone  
and sometime in the middle  
I had begun humming the tune  
myself.

-L.T.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and comments :)


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Chapter contains depictions of violence that may be disturbing to some readers, depictions of a prostitute's life, as well as a character with cocaine induced paranoia. Do not read if this affects you. If it doesn't... enjoy :)

_Four Years Later …_

Louis clasped his hands and brought them to his chapped lips, blowing a steady stream of hot air into the concave space, hoping to thaw out his stiff cold fingers. It was the end of fall, and the festive spiced demeanor of autumn was fading into the dead frozen silence of winter. No longer did fiery red and crisp orange leaves crunch beneath Louis’ sneakers. Instead, the sidewalk was stripped bare of any color, save for the pale grey of the concrete. The sky had long faced from a baby blue into a stretch of black, studded with shimmering stars. The streets of London were definitely not the safest place to wander at one in the morning, especially near the parks of the city’s poorer neighborhoods. However, the streets were a goldmine to Louis. As they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. 

It wasn’t long before Louis felt the harsh glare of headlights settle on the back of his neck, coating his skin a pale milky tone. His shadow was cast onto the pavement, his silhouette gradually shortening as the lights behind him got brighter and the treading of tires slowed to a stop beside him. Louis paused.

“Hey, babe. Got a place to stay tonight?” a man drawls slowly. With the beam of the headlights, Louis could make out a middle aged man with a rather square face and checkered collared shirt popping his head out the rolled down window. A silky striped tie hung loosely around his neck. Despite how confident his tone seemed, Louis could still make out a tremor of nerves and fear in his voice. Louis held back a grimace.

“I don’t know. Do I?” Louis quirked his lips up, giving the man a playful raise of an eyebrow. Inside, Louis cringed at how distastefully sugary and stale that sounded. However, the man seemed to love it, for he jerked his thumb to the passenger’s seat. Louis made his way around the car (another sleek black convertible with tinted glass and a crested emblem blindingly shiny) and slipped into the passenger's seat, immediately greeted by a rush of warm air and the scent of new leather seats.

“It’s 150 for a night, 40 if you want it quick.” Louis stated once he shut the door. The man simply grunted in response, taking off away from the dark shadows of the neighborhood and towards the direction of the more lit parts of London, where the large complexes of flats were. They drove in relative silence, with Louis mainly keeping track of the houses and streets they passed. The glow of towering buildings, advertisements, and traffic all sunk through the glass of the window and etched neon patterns onto Louis face. He desperately wanted to roll down the window and drink in the cool city air instead of suffocating in the enclosed mix of new car smell and hot air. 

It seemed that with every traffic light they passed, the more obnoxiously the man’s fingers would tap against the steering wheel. Louis’ have had a lot of nervous clients in the past, but this guy was pretty high up there. It could have been a trick of the light, but the man almost seemed to be sweating in his stiff shirt. On occasion, the man would yank at his tie, as if trying to loosen it further from the state it was already in.

Eventually, they reach a quieter section of London, pulling up to a seven story complex. The man exited and Louis followed suit, gulping a lungfull of fresh air as soon as his foot hit the pavement. Now, with the streetlight’s orange glow and the man standing in full view, Louis made out the man to be a bit younger than he originally thought. The man was quite possibly in his late twenties or early thirties, although with bagged eyes and limbs that seemed to carry a heavy load. His dark hair was slicked back from work, and he appeared a bit taller and skeleton like than he had sitting in the car. Again, he appeared quite ruffled, quickly unlocking his trunk to take out his briefcase. 

“Follow me.” the man said, not bother to glance back to see if Louis complied. He did.

The two of them approached a glass door at the side of the building. The man slid a card quickly through a slot, and the door clicked as it unlocked. Louis shivered as a gust of wind blew through the knitted threads of his jumper. He felt a warm hand on his lower back as the man guided him through the door.

The hallways of the complex were rather homey, with honey colored carpet that was, unfortunately, stained at places, although the fact added to the homey effect. The walls were painted a hue of cantaloupe, and small lamps clung to the walls, lighting the hall in a warm glow. It seemed like a quaint place, one that Louis wouldn’t mind living in himself if he could afford. Unfortunately, money didn’t go around easily nowadays, what with four little sisters to feed. Lottie, too, now that she was nearing graduation, would need all the money possible to save up for university. To Louis, some nice decor was a fair trade for food and education. 

The man lead Louis to the elevator at the end of the hall. The man pressed for the fifth floor, the transparent button lighting up dimly from years of use as the doors slid shut and the elevator started gliding upward. The elevator made no stops, reaching the fifth floor with a slight creak. The man exited, Louis following suit, until they stopped in front one of the generic blue doors. labeled 567. Despite how meaningless it was, Louis couldn’t help but twitch his lips slightly upward at the consecutive numbers. When times are bleak, small things like catchy room numbers are even a treat. 

The man unlocked the door, holding it open for Louis. He slid his shoes off by the doorway as his feet met soft pale carpet. The man followed behind, slipping off his shoes too and setting his briefcase by the door.

“Would you like anything to drink?” the man asked. Louis shook his head no, and the air turned a tad awkward as the man fidgeted with his tie. Louis cleared his throat.

“Let’s go to the bedroom. I can think of other things we can drink.” Louis winks, and shit. He hasn’t had to pull such a plain tasteless raunchy line in years. Most people were usually properly buzzed and in a hurry to make it to the bedroom. This guy, however, seemed in no such hurry.

The man flushes slightly and mumbles under his breath, leading Louis past the lit kitchen and towards the hallway that supposedly led to the bedroom.

Sure enough, the door opened to reveal soft navy blue walls, the same fuzzy carpet, and small nightstand next to a queen sized bed. Louis pretended to fidget with the belt to his jeans for a bit, letting his phone drop to the floor.

“Oops.” Louis murmured, bending over to pick it up, sending a quick glance under the bed for the gleam of a gun or knife. The space was empty.

 

Louis re-tucked his phone back in his pocket, and begun to shrug of his jumper without much thought, seeing as the other man made no move nor showed any desire to undress him. When Louis’ upper body was bare, he turned around to find the man still clothed, but fumbling through the drawer of his nightstand. 

“You alright, babe?” Louis peeked over the man’s shoulder curiously. The man ignored him, finally muttering an _aha_ when he produced a small plastic bag with white powder tucked inside. Louis’ seen those before.

The man’s fingers nearly shook as he produced a nail file from the drawer, scooping some of the powder onto an ashtray on the nightstand. He then proceeded to scoop the powder onto the nail file, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. He sighed in content. He handed the nail file to Louis.

“You go.” the man stated with newfound confidence, hands more sated. Louis shook his head.

“I’m good. You, though. We’ve got to get some clothes off of you.” Louis smirked, edging closer to the man. He started reaching to unbutton the man’s shirt when his hands were slapped away. Louis’ heart skipped a beat.

“NO! Don’t do that!” the man’s voice boomed with a tinge of hysteria that put Louis on edge. Louis took a step back slowly.

“Okay, babe, but we can’t get started if you’re in all those layers.” Louis proceeded. The man nodded, seeing reason to Louis’ words. He went to take another hit from the ashtray, seemingly more if Louis’ eyes weren’t tricking him. 

The man began to unbuckle his belt, letting his pants drop to the floor. He still, however, made no move to unbutton his shirt. 

“Would you like some help-

“NO!” the man hollered. Louis jumped again, as the man clung tighter to his shirt, his fists balling the cloth. “There are things you can’t see.” the man cried, and now Louis was slightly scared.

“Aw, babe, that’s alright. I’ve seen it all.” Louis continues, and it is slightly true. He’s seen people with chests practically slathered in tattoos, and people with strange surgery scars and stories. There were always those who were a little more self conscious. Despite the fact that each one of his clients were paying to pretty much use his body, Louis couldn’t help but want each one of them to at least not feel self conscious in the process.

“I’ll feel better if you take some of this.” the man says, handing the ashtray to Louis. Louis shook his head. “Sorry sir, I can’t-

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” the man whispers, taking a step back. Louis swallows. 

“What?” 

The man’s face is suddenly overcome with zeal, slamming the ashtray down onto the nightstand.

“Yes you are! I knew you looked like one the moment I saw you!” the man exclaimed, nearly giggling. By now, Louis eyes were darting around the room for the door. Unfortunately, the man stood right in front of it, not looking like he was going to budge one inch. Nothing around the room seemed throwable either. 

“Tell me where the others are.” the man barked. Louis’ eyes widened.

“Sir, I have no idea-

“TELL ME!” the man demanded, now turning around to dig through his nightstand. Louis’ hands shook harder as he fumbled for his phone in his back pocket. He slid open the phone and opened up the dialler. He started for the 9 when a hand slapped the device out of his hands, the phone flying across the room and hitting the bedroom wall, leaving a dent. Louis felt a hand clasp around his throat and his head hit the wall as the man slammed Louis against the wall. 

“Don’t make me do this.” the man’s hot breath tickled his ear as Louis struggled to pry the man’s fingers from his throat. Louis wasn’t sure what to say, not that he could talk either. The man’s eyes danced with a wild fire, and Louis realized this was the only time he had ever looked at a client’s eyes before. _Blue eyes,_ Louis mused, his head clouding from the shortage of oxygen. _Just like mine._

The man continued to whisper in his ear, although now it had reached more of a shouting volume. Louis hardly noticed, his mind struggling for oxygen and chanting _I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die_ over and over. He wondered what the news articles were going to be. _Prostitute strangled to death after trying to remove man’s shirt,_ Louis thought. Or, possibly, there would be no news headline at all. Maybe the man was going to dump his body in a ditch somewhere for the police to find twenty years down the road. Then, his sisters would all go on some TV show sobbing about how one night he just disappeared while the interviewer nods sympathetically. And _oh god,_ his sisters. Louis could already imagine Lottie getting up in their small flat in the morning, padding barefoot to the kitchen to find Louis not there and no tea on the kettle. Then Félicité would get up next, grumbling about the lack of cereal choices in the pantry through tired eyes. Then Phoebe and Daisy would be late for primary school, for Louis wouldn’t be able to wake them up. Then, when Louis’ death reached them, they would all probably get separated again after so much work into separate homes. 

By now, Louis had tuned out most things in the room until he felt something… icy against his legs. The cold crawled up the side of his leg to his side, and that was when the cold started fading into something hot. Really hot.

Now thoughts could hardly process in his mind. Despite the hand clenched on his throat, Louis screamed at the scorching heat on his body. He felt the heat crawl up to his chest and hardly noticed when the bedroom door flew open, the hallway light seeping in. Suddenly, the grip around his neck was gone, and oxygen once again flooded to his brain. That hardly helped, however, for now the pain was intensified, and Louis could smell _burning skin._ He thought he heard a few curse words here and there before the pain started to become overwhelming. His vision fogged up and finally turned dark as he slumped against the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter came across slightly confusing as to the man's behavior, it will be explained in the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 3

_One week later…_

Harry sighed as he flopped another file onto his desk. In the past week, his life has been a mess of bad dinner dates, bad coffee, and sleepless nights. The only up was the finished case on Friday, with the jury once again deciding in his favor. He chuckled at the thought of the news: Harry Styles once again, undefeated.

Being an undefeated lawyer had its perks and its downsides. The perks included plenty of dinner invitations to parties with shrimp and cocktail sauce on silver platters. The downsides included staying up well past three A.M. finishing up the last touches to a case. 

Now, Harry was faced with yet another case. He had gotten a brief rundown from his secretary, Niall, a blond headed law school kid who also doubled as a drinking buddy. Their ages weren’t that far apart, with Harry closing in on twenty seven and Niall having celebrated his twenty fourth birthday a few months earlier, thus making their friendship develop quite naturally. 

Harry took one lazy swivel around in his chair before settling in at his desk. It was just after Harry’s lunch break, with the winter sun seeping in through the large set of glass windows behind his desk, meaning Harry was full and tired. Afternoons like these were always so quiet and lazy. It was the perfect time for a nap, and his desk had just been cleaned recently, meaning he had just the right space to rest his head. Unfortunately, if he didn’t go over the file with Niall now, then he would have to do it over dinner.

“Niall!” Harry called out. Through the glass doors of the office, Niall popped his head up from behind the mountains of paperwork at his desk. He got up and pushed into Harry’s office.

“You ready for the run-down?” Niall asked, gum smacking between his teeth.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Harry grimaced. Niall smirked, popping into the office and plopping down onto the green cloth chair across from Harry’s desk. Niall scooped up the creamy manila folder that had been taunting Harry all day, flipping open the front page to reveal a blotchy black and white photo of the client.

“Your client is Clint Jones. Twenty-eight years old, single, and works as an accountant for a computer company.” Niall stated, as Harry peered over at the upside down image. The man had a rather square face with sunken hollows beneath his eyes. He seemed rather gangly, and even with the colorless image, Harry could imagine his pale milky skin. Harry leaned back on his chair, bobbing his head. Niall continued.

“From what I read last night, it was quite the freak incident,” Niall skimmed through the file, not bothering to use more refined language since it was just around Harry. “Jones was apparently commuting home on Saturday, so four days ago, when he picked up an alleged prostitute at around 1:30 A.M. on the eastern side of London. The prostitute agreed to go with Jones and hopped in Jones’ convertible, the two of them reaching Jones’ flat sometime close to two in the morning. This is all the information we got out of Jones. After that, the interrogators said he got a little… wonky.”

Harry hummed. Wonky. Certainly nothing new. 

Niall grimaced, closing the file. “Something went down from the time they got there to around 2:10. Apparently, a nearby resident, Ed Sheeran, heard a loud disturbance. There were reportedly shouts and screaming coming from inside Jones’ flat, and Sheeran decided to check if everything was alright. According to Sheeran, the main door was ‘miraculously unlocked,’ and Sheeran proceeded to the source of the disturbance, which was in the bedroom.”

Niall paused, taking a deep breath and scowling. 

“According to Sheeran, the client was choking the victim and had-” Niall chuckled dryly “- _set fire_ to the victim’s side with some sort of homemade contraption.” Niall stated.

“Is the victim alive?” Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes,” Niall nodded, “he was escorted to a nearby hospital after Sheeran dialed for emergency and restrained Jones. The victim is so far known to be suffering from severe third degree burns and dehydration. Your client is currently locked up until court.”

“So the victim is a he.” Harry stated. Niall nodded.

“That could give us an advantage in court. The jury might have less pity for him.”

Niall grimaced. “I hate when you say that kinda stuff.”

Harry agreed. “Me too, but it’s true.” He stroked his bare chin in thought. 

“What have the investigators found so far?” Harry inquired. Niall sighed.

“So far, they’ve found an ashtray with cocaine as well as a stash of cocaine in the bedroom nightstand and in the glovebox of Jones’ car.”

Harry perked up, sitting up straight and setting his elbows on the desk.

“So he’s a cocaine addict.” Harry stated rather than asked. Niall shrugged.

“The victim hasn’t admitted it, but it sure damn seems so.”

“What else did they find?” Harry leaned forward in his chair and propped his elbows on the desk.

“They also found … strange contraptions around Jones’ home.” Niall continued. Harry raised an eyebrow, waiting for Niall to continue.

“There were several mouse traps found near a closet door, and each room was equipped with some type of homemade weapon. Some of the kitchen drawers were bolted shut, and there were several patches of burnt carpet found in the livingroom.”

Harry hummed, processing the information. Niall couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his head. This definitely wasn’t the strangest case they’ve had, but it was definitely high up there on the scale.

“Who’s the prosecutor?” was all Harry asked after a moment of thought. Niall smirked.

“Zayn Malik.”

Harry feels as if rubbing alcohol had just been dumped on an open wound.

“Zayn _Malik_?”

Niall nodded grimly. “The one and only.” he added. 

“Why am I just learning about this now?” Harry spluttered. He shot up from his desk and paced behind his chair, hands clasped behind his back. Niall’s eyes flickered back and forth, amused, as he followed Harry’s pacing figure.

“Well, I tried calling you last night when I heard the news, but your phone went to voicemail.” 

“Then call me again!” Harry knew that was bullshit. There was no way he would have answered his phone last night. He ran his fingers through his headful of curls, flustered.

_Zayn Malik._

Harry still remembered sitting next to that brown headed lad in college, thinking he looked as if he had been sculpted by the heavens himself. He always came to class each day with a black backpack slung over his shoulder, of which he would proceed to take out a neat and organized set of notes and line up his pencil and pens on the desk as if they were dining ware. Then he would silently scribble notes in dark ink as the professor began his lecture. Never once did he look sleep deprived like all the other sweat pant and sandal clad students around them. Instead, Malik always prefered to come decked in a nice pair of dark jeans and an ironed collared shirt. He was like a more successful version of Harry, if that was possible.

Harry never backed down from a challenge. He thrived in them. The only problem was that Malik had never lost either. Not a single trial. The thing with court cases was that no matter the reputation of the attorney or prosecutor, there had to be a winner or loser. Someone was coming out of this a loser.

“Whhyyyyyy?” Harry whined, sinking himself back down onto his chair. Niall still seemed mildly humored. Niall was always humored.

“Okay, okay,” Harry calmed himself down, clearing his head. The most important part to winning a trial was that he couldn’t give up before the trial even began. Besides, he hadn’t even began looking at the evidence. He could have a major advantage in this case somewhere. _Yes,_ Harry thought. _Keep positive._

“Any investigators hired on the scene yet?”

Niall skimmed to the last page of the file.

“There’s a Perrie Edwards in charge of the investigation. A Liam Payne also wanted to contact you earlier while you were at lunch. He said he was interested in helping you with the case.”

Harry’s curiosity stirred. “Liam Payne?”

“Yes,” Niall nodded, “he’s a psychology researcher at the university. According to his record, he’s been involved in similar cases in the past.”

Things were starting to look up for Harry. Tonight, he could contact Payne and Edwards. With some hard work here and there, Harry could match and even defeat Malik. _Staying positive,_ Harry grinned.

“Who charged the case?” Harry asked, sitting up straight to crack his back. Niall reopened the file.

“A sixteen year old girl, or summat. She’s the sister of the victim, apparently.” Nial said. That’s good. Although the jury could take pity on the girl, her age might make them take her less seriously. As horrid as that sounds, it was the truth.

“Who did you say the victim was?” Harry asked. The fact must have slipped his mind.

“Didn’t. His name’s Louis Tomlinson.”

And like that, Harry’s plan for success crashed.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments or kudos! There will be random updates. Please comment below whether you prefer Ziam, Ziall, Sophiam, or whatever as a side pairing. Thank you for reading!


End file.
